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‘Here’s one for the mossy-bearded apple tree!’ chirped the little wren. He’d found the ale to his liking and had managed to down his fair share. He puffed out his breast feathers in the pale morning light and trilled a merry tune.
Oh apple tree, we'll wassail thee
And hoping thou wilt bear
For who might know where we may go
To be merry another year
To grow well and to bear well
And so merrily let us be
Let every creature down his drink
And ‘was hael’ to the old apple tree
Brave lads, and a health to the old apple tree
The ancient apple tree beyond the gate rattled its sere leaves and banged a branch or two against the wooden fence. The wren flew tipsily to the tree’s branches and danced along the length of a bare limb. Others of the animals gathered took up the singing, all of them feeling exceptionally merry, if not a little fuddled in their thinking.
His head reeling a bit from the long night without rest and the good ale, the wren gave the old tree a last bow and flew up to one of the shuttered windows at the back of the Inn. There was a small knothole, just big enough for him to crawl into and begin to tuck his addled head beneath one wing. The inner shutters were latched tight and he leaned his body heavily against them.
The sounds of voices in the room beyond barely reached his sinking consciousness. But, all of a sudden the inner shutters were pulled open and his drowsing form tumbled inward. He landed clumsily on a dark blue robe folded neatly on the bench beneath the window. Above him stood a tall man, looking down the length of his nose at the poor bird. And just beyond the one man was another, just as tall, all wrapped in his bed sheets and peering at the wren with a questioning look on his face.
‘Begging your pardon, sirs,’ the wren managed to tweet out. His head was aching now from the fall. He yawned widely, an incongruous act for one with a beak to manage. He fluffed out his feathers and looked blearily at the two large creatures. The room was nice and warm. With another large yawn he fell to his side on the soft material, and began to snore . . .
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